


Push it

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Next time," Ryan had said, exhaling smoke from the joint in one long, sinuous stream, hair still plastered to the nape of his neck from sweat; "Next time, I don't want you to stop. After I--just don't stop."</p><p>"Oh," Jon had said, blinking. "Okay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push it

**Author's Note:**

> All my commas are belong to [](http://stephanometra.livejournal.com/profile)[**stephanometra**](http://stephanometra.livejournal.com/).

It's almost a surprise when Ryan comes on his face.

Jon likes to think he's gotten good at reading the tiny cues Ryan's body gives just before he's about to come, the way his mouth spills out tiny gasps and nothing-words, the way his thigh muscles tighten up under Jon's hands. He should have been expecting it, but he's distracted by Ryan's mouth, the way he keeps shaping words that don't make it past his lips. Ryan bucks up under his hands and then Jon's got a face full of come and Jon realizes distantly that it's kind of funny, but all he can think at the moment is _yes, yours._

"Fuck," Ryan mutters, reaching down to swipe his thumb over Jon's cheek, his voice cracking a little. Jon grins and nuzzles at the juncture of Ryan's hipbone and thigh, smearing Ryan's come back onto his skin. He doesn't mind it, really; getting come out of his beard is kind of a bitch but it's worth it to see Ryan's face afterwards, when he looks down at Jon and his eyes widen and that lazy, satisfied smile breaks over his face. 

Jon trails his hand under the swell of Ryan's ass, lifting his leg a little so he can draw his fingers down the crack of Ryan's ass. Ryan groans and arches and Jon can't help pressing his face into the skin of Ryan's thigh as Ryan squirms underneath him, like he can't decide whether or not to push forward or pull away from Jon's fingers tracing around his rim.

("Next time," Ryan had said, exhaling smoke from the joint in one long, sinuous stream, hair still plastered to the nape of his neck from sweat; "Next time, I don't want you to stop. After I--just don't stop."

"Oh," Jon had said, blinking. "Okay.")

There isn't a whole lot to clean up, because it's mostly on Jon's face; Ryan stomach is long and bare and taut, just a few strings of come shining wetly on his skin. Jon laps at him anyway, smiling into Ryan's stomach as Ryan jerks again. He swipes a little too close to the head with his tongue and Ryan makes another broken noise and Jon wonders _how far, how far_. He leans in closer, suckles lightly at the head of Ryan's cock, flicking the slit with an easy practiced movement and Ryan moans with his whole body, one long, low rumble, tumbling out like an accidental promise.

"If you don't like it, you need to tell me," Jon says; his mouth is watering a little, greedily. "Otherwise, I'm going to just--"

"Keep going," Ryan says, and his voice is scratched, rough and thick. Jon hides his smile in Ryan's hipbone and pinches under his thigh, sharp and sudden. Ryan twitches, sighs.

Jon keeps going, tiny kitten licks at the base of Ryan's cock, slowly moving towards the head. Ryan's skin is soft everywhere but it's softest here, under his tongue, and Jon hums with pleasure. His cock is a heavy ache between his thighs but he ignores it, nuzzling his face in.

"Ah!" Ryan bites out, suddenly, and Jon realizes his beard is scraping the bottom of Ryan's cock. He does it again, purposefully this time and Ryan shakes. He's trying so hard to keep still.

"Can we fuck," Jon mumbles, tongue slick with the taste of salt and sweat, bitter and fragrant. "I really want to fuck you, can we just--" and Ryan nods frantically, jaw working nothing but the air. Jon fumbles the cap of the lube and nearly spills it on the bed when he's trying to get his fingers slicked up.

Ryan's still loose from his orgasm and even though he clenches up a little Jon just pushes past it, just a little rough, digging the fingers of his other hand in so Ryan will stay where he wants him. "Fuck, Jon--" Ryan mutters, his voice still wrecked. His stomach muscles are jumping under his skin, too many endorphins too soon. Jon palms the flat expense of skin just below his bellybutton and Ryan hisses again, his head thrown back.

"Shhh," Jon says, letting the words roll out in a low rumble, sucking a bruise into Ryan's thigh as he pulls his finger out and comes back with two. "You said you--"

"Nnngh," Ryan says, and Jon watches as the toes of his right foot curl up, just a little, as Jon sinks his fingers in deep.

The _idea_ of it had been hot; Jon had already jerked off to it in the shower once or twice, imagining Ryan's body twitching involuntarily around his cock, wondering how long he could hold Ryan right on the edge of _too much_. Ryan underneath him is even better; Jon's aware his mouth is sort of hanging half-open, but Ryan's arching again, muscles lean and mouth spit-slick and open. Jon pushes down harder on Ryan's hip, keeping him in place while he crooks his fingers just a little. "Fuck," Ryan mumbles, "Jon, _Jon," _and it's stuttery and arrhythmic, like Ryan's taking in too much air on every breath. Jon presses up firmly, lining up a third finger and his name on Ryan's lips sounds like _more._

"Is this what you wanted?" Jon asks, pulling his other hand off Ryan's hip to readjust himself, get a better angle for his right hand and wrist. Ryan turns his head to the side, and Jon knows it's partially the sex flush, but he thinks Ryan might be blushing. "Tell me," Jon says softly, worming a hand underneath Ryan's back so he can palm his ass, rake his blunt fingernails down the dip in his spine. "Tell me you want it or I'll stop." 

"No, don't st--," Ryan grits out, and Jon forces himself to still his hand, waiting. Ryan pushes against him involuntarily, needy jerks of his hips, and Jon can feel him clenching around his fingers. "You _bastard_," Ryan finally says, when it's obvious that Jon isn't going to continue until Ryan replies. Jon reaches a hand up and rubs his thumb over the sharp curve of Ryan's cheekbone, echoing his movements from earlier. The skin is hot and damp under his hand and Ryan groans, nuzzling into the touch. "C'mon, tell me," Jon says again, and Ryan's eyes flicker open. Jon twists his fingers just a little, working them slowly back into Ryan's body and Ryan finally snaps, keening low and broken as he shudders. "_Dammit_, yes, god, please, Jon, _please__,_" Ryan grits out, and Jon bites his lip and pulls his fingers out, pulling at his hip to get Ryan on his stomach. 

Jon's sliding up as soon as Ryan's on his stomach, nipping at the back of his neck and nuzzling into the thin skin behind his ear. Ryan groans and arches back, too far gone to be anything but needy, and Jon runs his hands down Ryan's sides, mapping the span of Ryan's shoulders, pulling at his hips so they're canted up and tucked against his own. Ryan smells strong and sharp when Jon breathes him in, and he knows Ryan's waiting, impatient, but he can't help dragging his tongue down Ryan's spine, starting between his shoulder blades and ending just at the dip of his spine. Ryan arches further, squirming as Jon spreads him open and licks lightly over his hole, testing. "I like you like this," Jon murmurs, drawing his fingernails down one cheek, slow, watching the marks flare up and soften under his hand. "You want it on your stomach?" _Jon _wants Ryan on his stomach, wants to feel him flex and tremble underneath him, but it isn't his call to make.

Ryan flails a hand out and grabs a pillow, shoving it under his hips as he nods, face pressed to the mattress. He's still soft but getting harder and Jon wonders what it feels like, the twinges Ryan must be feeling as his body responds too soon, bright-hot and white and just on the edge of pain. Jon pours more lube into his hand, works Ryan open and ready, taking his time. Ryan's murmuring messy declarations into the mattress, swears and praise all at once until Jon finally moves into place, sinking in slow and careful.

Ryan tenses up.

Jon waits, rubbing a hand carefully between his sharp shoulder blades, letting Ryan relax into him before his rakes his nails down his spine. Ryan makes a noise that isn't a word, something like _god_ but choked off and half-formed, and yes, yes, that's what Jon was waiting for. He settles into a rhythm, watching the slide of his cock into Ryan, punctuating each thrust with something new, something different; wet kisses to his shoulder, light slaps on his thigh. Ryan just shudders and moans and begs, voice gone soft and silibant, like all he can manage are the vowels.

Jon speeds up, moving his hands to Ryan's hips for balance and a sob breaks through the haze of Ryan warm and tight around his cock, the sound small but unmistakable. Jon slows down, uncertain, but Ryan swears at him and bucks back, pressing Jon deeper inside him. Jon leans down, changing the angle and Ryan arches just as Jon turns Ryan's head; his eyes are slightly wet, unfocused, but he bites at Jon's lips like Jon's the only thing holding him in place.

Jon's just been pushing-pushing-pushing but Ryan's just been _taking_, and it's heady, overwhelming. He speeds up again, sharp slapping noises of skin-on-skin and Ryan bucks underneath him and he's coming, _jesus christ_, Ryan's coming. Jon can't--he can't think straight, can't wrap his head around the fact that Ryan just came without Jon even touching him. Ryan sobs once more, his body clenching around Jon and Jon's orgasm hits, sudden and overwhelming and so, so good.

It takes the space of five breathes for Jon to come back down; he drifts for a moment until Ryan makes a tiny pained noise beneath him. Jon bites his lip and pulls out carefully, tossing the condom in the wastebasket next to the bed.

Ryan tries to roll over onto his back and misses, somehow; his body won't quite respond to his requests.

"Hey, no, hey, let me," Jon says when Ryan makes an annoyed noise and glares at his legs, like they're the problem. Jon smooths a palm down his back, warm and slow, trying to get Ryan's muscles to relax. He scratches at the nape of Ryan's neck and snickers a little when Ryan mutters "I'm all fucking sticky."

"Don't--here," Jon says, and between the two of them they manage to get Ryan up and off the pillow that's under his hips, get him situated so he's lying on his back. Jon reaches down and pets his stomach just a little, still smeared with come and Ryan growls, petulant. "_Washcloth_," he says, frowning. "Jon, seriously, I would get it but I can't move."

"_Don't_ move," Jon says, walking over to the bathroom to grab a facecloth, wetting it a little under the faucet. "I need to rub your legs out, or you'll get a cramp."

Ryan flexes his leg a little as Jon's wiping them both off, and winces, scrunching half his face up. "Ow," Ryan says, mystified, like he hadn't just spend the past hour being fucked. "That really hurts, why does it hurt so much?"

"I wonder," Jon says, whacking him lightly with the facecloth. "You're the genius, you figure it out." 

"So," Jon says, once he's got one of Ryan's long calves across his lap, digging his thumbs into the muscle while Ryan makes low, pleased noises in his throat. "Was that--?" _everything you wanted_, Jon thinks. _Say you want to do it again **please** say you want to do it again._

"Good," Ryan says, and blinks one eye open to smile at him sleepily. "It was good, I feel awesome. Except for my legs."

"I'm working on it," Jon says, stroking a thumb down Ryan's instep just to watch him shiver. It's a little mean and he knows it, but Jon Walker has never pretended to be a saint. "You want some Advil? You're still going to be sore tomorrow."

"Later," Ryan mumbles, reaching a hand out, long fingers scrabbling at Jon's bent knee. "I want a nap. Come _here_."

Jon goes.  



End file.
